


An Unorthodox Action

by Trojie



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Airships, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Crossdressing, Kissing, M/M, Magic Revealed, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-13
Updated: 2011-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lieutenant Arthur Pendragon of the RAF's Airship Division is cooling his heels in Troy, when a cross-dresser claiming to be a spy for His Majesty's Government in Albion warns him that he needs to get out out of the city in a hurry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unorthodox Action

**Author's Note:**

  * For [_afterism](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=_afterism).



> Written for Camelot Solstice
> 
> The line 'I can get my feet behind my head, I've got my Grade Three,' is taken from Terry Pratchett's 'Pyramids', where it is uttered by the redoubtable Ptraci. I also wish to take this moment to apologise to all sensible practitioners/authors/readers of steampunk, and indeed to steampunk itself, for this fic.

It’s a stiflingly hot night in metropolitan Troy, and Flight Lieutenant Arthur Pendragon of His Majesty’s Royal Flying Corps, Airship Division, would curse his dress blues if it weren’t an offense to do so.

He would also curse the walled city of Troy, and his engineer Guinevere, and the currently broken-down mechanical contrivance she's sweating over which he is pleased to refer to as both the HMAS _Excalibur_ and ‘my first command’, but Flight Lieutenant Arthur Pendragon has not been raised to go around cursing things. Particularly not Guinevere, who is rather sweet, actually. He's just irritable tonight.

It is _hot_ , and Arthur would like a very cold gin and tonic with its refreshing, medicinal tang of cinchona, but he cannot seem to find the bar that Flying Officer Le Fay recommended. He revolves in what is quite possibly an undignified manner, taking in all the bright signs lit by hissing gas lanterns, trying to spot something that looks familiar.

‘Lost?’ someone asks, and Arthur halts in his revolutions and turns toward the direction of the voice. Someone is standing in the shadow of an alleyway. The light comes from so many directions and is cut by so many walls and lampposts and even Arthur’s own body, that all he can see are slashes of colour and texture - sheer blue fabric, a slender ankle, a mop of dark hair - until he moves closer and sees that the speaker is male, tall, thin, of European extraction most certainly, but bedecked in the gear of a female dancer, only missing a wig to make the picture complete.

Arthur’s first thought is that the nobles do not usually allow their dancers to roam, and that this man must be on the run, and his second thought is that the very long list of caveats on his presence in Troy doesn’t extend to helping slaves escape, and his third thought is that generally people on the run don’t (or shouldn't) parade around in clothes that make jangling noises.

'No,' he says reflexively when he realises that the proper time for responding to the question is fast passing. 'I just can't find my destination.'

'Probably for the best,' says the dancer, sidling just out of the niche he'd been sheltering in. 'Lieutenant Pendragon, if you don't leave this city now, you're not going to be able to.'

'I beg your pardon?'

Now the dancer comes right out into the light, but only long enough to drag Arthur back against the wall with him, where they can't be seen. 'Operatives of the Trojan government are _coming for you_ , Pendragon,' he hisses. 'Please don't tell me I have to spell it out plainer than that. You're a diplomat's son and a high-profile target, and the governors of Troy would rather like to have Albion's whole-hearted military support against the rebel faction you're here to report on the strength of.'

'And they plan on gaining my country's support by kidnapping me?' Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow quizzically. 'This doesn't seem entirely logical. And I don't know your name, by the way, so you rather have the advantage of me here.'

'No, clotpoll, think for a moment. They plan on gaining your country's support by making out that the _rebels_ kidnapped you. And you don't need to know my name, you just need to get out of here. I'm risking my cover enough as it is by being out here and talking to you.'

'Your cover?'

The dancer looks at him with irritation foremost in his expression. 'You don't seriously think random entertainers tail you around cities, do you?'

There was an incident in Calcutta, actually, but Arthur is not about to mention that. 'No, of course not,' he says, rolling his eyes.

'I'm working for His Majesty's Government, that's all you need to know at this point in time,' the dancer says. 'Now get back to your ridiculously ostentatious airship and for God's sake get out of this city.' He finishes up by shoving Arthur not-very-gently back out onto the street, and by the time Arthur's turned around, he's gone, leaving only a lingering smell of perfume and a cracked, cobalt-blue glass bead on the pavement. Arthur only notices it because it catches the light of the nearest streetlamp.

He picks it up and rolls it between his fingers, before dropping it in his pocket. That drink will have to wait - he has to speak with his Flying Officers Le Fay and du Lac about this latest development. An officer of His Majesty's Government, in deep cover in Troy ...

So lost in thought is he that he doesn't notice the ether-soaked pad until he walks into it.

***

The first thing Arthur's aware of is the rolling cramp in his stomach. He doubles up, retching, and a bucket is shoved extremely unceremoniously underneath his head. He goes to grasp it and realises his hands are bound behind his back. He's kneeling on a hard wooden floor, staring into a bucket that has seen better days and not much soapy water.

The nausea is too insistent to wait, however, and further inspection of his surroundings is lost as the next wave of illness takes him. He throws up.

He hates to throw up. He hates it intensely, and the fact that he can't balance properly and he's throwing up into a bucket and his hair is glued to his forehead with sweat doesn't help. He feels a rumbling throughout his body and he starts to panic before he realises it's just the throbbing of an airship engine. He relaxes.

No, wait. If he's in an airship and he's bound and recovering from the aftereffects of a doping, this is not a reason to relax.

Someone rubs soothingly at the nape of his neck, and their cool fingers help the sickness subside.

'C'mon,' they're saying quietly, repetitively. 'C'mon Arthur, it's okay. Let it go, that's it. Let it go-' and Arthur throws up again, and again, until there's nothing left in his stomach at all. He licks his lips, retching again at the taste of bile, and looks up at his Good Samaritan.

It's the dancer - _the spy_ \- from before. He has his hands free, apparently wriggled out of the rope swathing his midsection and ruining the delicate fabric of his costume. He notices Arthur staring at that, and shrugs. 'There are advantages to being double-jointed,' he says. 'I'll loosen your ropes, but we need to keep them there in case someone comes in - need to look like we're still incapacitated.' As he says it he starts fiddling with the knots on Arthur's bonds.

When Arthur manages to pull his arms out from behind his back, his shoulders crack. He winces. The other man moves his hands to Arthur's shoulders, digging his fingers into the knots in the muscles. Arthur drops his head, and rumbles appreciatively.

'Pardon?' the spy asks.

'I said, where on Earth did you learn this?' Arthur says, lifting his head again.

'They train you special,' the spy says. 'I can get my feet behind my head, too. I've got my Grade Three.' He's grinning.

Arthur is starting to feel human again, human enough to pull himself away and ask, 'So, exactly how is getting me drugged and then getting kidnapped _with me_ in a strange airship a good way of helping His Majesty's Government?'

The spy scowls. 'This wasn't exactly the plan,' he says irritably. 'Someone caught me just after I left you, bag over my head and everything.'

Arthur is about to ask if the spy was drugged when there's a scraping noise at the door, as of a key being shoved into a lock. He hastily shrugs his arms back into the ropes and leans back against the bulkhead behind him - the other man does likewise.

A man sweeps into the cabin. He's tall and imposing, and Arthur makes a point of memorising his features. Going by his air of command, he's in charge. Perhaps ex-military, the way he holds his hands behind his back as he strides into the cramped space offering up that suggestion.

Following after him is a tousle-haired man, with dark olive skin and a much less military, but no less dangerous, bearing to him. Arthur hears his fellow prisoner's slight intake of breath as the man enters the room. Interesting.

'Pendragon,' says the first man, the leader, his expression smug. 'I am Captain Kanen. You may be familiar with the name.'

Arthur inclines his head by as tiny an increment as he can manage, and says, 'Kanen,' neutrally. He will not acknowledge the rank. 'The rebel leader.'

'Captain of the Resistance,' Kanen corrects. He gestures at the man behind him. 'And this is my second, Gwaine. A loyal subject of your nation, but not of your nobility. I merely warn you now so that you don't waste precious time attempting to inveigle him into sympathy for your predicament. Gwaine feels, as I do, that the land would be a good deal more green and pleasant were there no fat lordlings pasturing themselves on it.'

Arthur's attention is drawn to the man by his side - the spy is almost vibrating with suppressed .. anger? Probably anger. And he's staring at Gwaine as well. Very, very interesting.

Kanen has noticed this as well. 'Ah,' he says, and he's smiling in a way that does not bode well. 'I take it you have met Merlin?' he asks Gwaine.

The man nods curtly. 'A long time ago,' he says, not taking his eyes from the spy's. _Merlin_. At least now Arthur has a name for him.

'I am sure you have much to catch up on. Perhaps it was fortuitous that my men ran into him with the good Lieutenant.'

'We're on a long flight,' Gwaine says with controlled blandness in his tone. 'No doubt we'll have time.'

Kanen nods, and snaps his fingers. The brig door opens once more. 'Not too much time. We have things to do. Come.' He strides back out, and Gwaine follows him, sneaking one backward glance at Merlin, which is so heated that Arthur feels quite embarrassed to have seen it.

'Well, that explains a good deal,' he says, off-handedly. 'It turns out you were telling the truth after all.' _Rebels_ , he thinks to himself. He's spent the past three months working off his disgrace in the eyes of his father, supposed to be chasing phantoms and staying out of the way, and it turns out the rebels are real and dangerous after all.

'Of course I was telling the truth,' the other man retorts. 'I don't tell lies.'

'In that case, would you mind filling me in about how you know the second-in-command of the most dangerous anti-monarchy cell known to the Trojan government?' _Whom up until recently I had been assured was merely a figment of their overactive foreign imaginations_

Merlin colours a delicate and dangerous garnet-red, and bites his lip. 'That's none of your business.'

Arthur begs to differ. 'Actually, it is of the utmost importance- what are you doing?' Merlin has somehow shrugged out of his ropes entirely, nearly folding himself in half lengthwise to achieve this goal, and is standing up gracefully in his long beaded blue skirts.

'Looking out the window,' he says, as if this should be obvious, and moves across to the hatch in the bulkhead.

He is barefoot. There's a string of cobalt-blue beads around his left ankle. This fact is rather more intriguing than it should be. Arthur wrenches himself back to the matters at hand. 'Why?'

'So that I can try to work out where we are, idiot,' Merlin says. 'We have to get you out of here.'

'Why, precisely, is it so urgent that you have to work out where we are now?' Arthur is starting to feel oddly light-headed again, although fortunately the unsteadiness of his stomach seems not to be recurring. He doesn't think he could face the bucket again, anyway.

'You are fifth in line to the throne, aren't you?' Merlin says testily. 'I'm not at liberty to say why, but whatever Kanen's planning, I can't let you remain in his hands.'

'We're flying. It's not as if we could fling a rope out of a hatch and climb to freedom,' Arthur points out. 'We're going to have to wait until we land at the very least.'

'Hmmm,' says Merlin, peering out of the hatch. 'So we force a landing,' he says, as if it's as easy as taking tea. What Arthur would give for a proper engineer right now ... 'There's the Tiber - we're heading into Europe.'

'Look, will you just sit down and tell me what the matter is?' Arthur realises that it is probably the remains of the ether that is making him feel so fluff-headed. Merlin's fading perfume is distracting him, confusing him. 'Europe means Albion. If they get me to Albion then we'll be found, and everything will be fine, surely.'

Merlin's expression suggests that this is far from the case. 'You have more enemies than you know of,' he says, his face twisting sourly. 'Not everyone in Albion is as patriotic and lion-hearted as they'd like you to think. You have to get back to Albion on your own terms - if Kanen gets you to one of his safe-houses, you'll never be seen again.' He glares at Arthur for a second, and then seems to realise how much effort Arthur is putting into just staying upright.

He sighs, and drops himself down into a tailor's seat that someone probably tried to teach him to do elegantly. He looks more like a dying swan than anything else. He's very close to Arthur as well, slightly too close for comfort and dignity.

'What are you doing?' Arthur asks warily. Merlin rolls his eyes. The drugged feeling is getting stronger, cloudier every second.

'You're about five seconds off passing out,' Merlin says, eyeing Arthur with a jaundiced expression that he probably thinks makes him look like he knows what he's talking about. On the point of a biting retort, Arthur feels the world turn sideways underneath him. This rather makes him forget what he was about to say.

Merlin pulls Arthur's head down into his lap. 'Sleep, you idiot,' he mutters, and Arthur, because he has little choice, does as he's told.

***

When Arthur wakes, it's to find that what little light was filtering through the bulkhead hatch has now ceased filtering at all. It is, in fact, almost pitch dark, but there's a flickering candle-light on the other side of the hold, and Arthur can make out low voices. One is Merlin's, the other, Arthur realises as he shifts closer, is the rebel second, Gwaine.

'- can't be trusted,' Merlin is saying. 'I'd rather we did this on our own.'

'They'll be coming after us,' Gwaine says. 'If I know the AD, the only reason we haven't seen them yet is the wretched cloud cover at this altitude.'

'How long do you think we have?' Merlin asks.

'A day, at most. Their generator is more efficient than ours.' There's envy and exasperation in Gwaine's voice, and Arthur feels slow as he realises they're talking about the _Excalibur_ in hot pursuit.

'Then we'll be going down over southern France,' Merlin says, musingly. 'I have friends there if need arises.' He pauses, and then he says, studiously nonchalant, 'I trust we can rely on you when it all falls over?'

Arthur is suddenly thankful he hasn't made them aware of his wakefulness when Gwaine replies, 'You have always been able to rely on me, Merlin,' in a warm, urgent tone that seems more appropriate for the boudoir than the bowels of an enemy airship.

Arthur can't continue to eavesdrop, especially not on that sort of conversation., so he clearly his throat loudly. Merlin's head snaps up and towards Arthur immediately. The candle-light, if that's what it was, flicks out suddenly.

'Feeling better?' Merlin asks as Arthur feels his way to sit beside him

Arthur nods, for all the good it does in the dark. 'Much. What are we talking about?' There's no point beating about the bush, and Arthur doesn't like feeling as if he's being kept in the dark with regards to information.

Gwaine's expression has become shuttered now that Arthur is around. 'Tactics,' he says. 'For when your inevitable rescue party gets here.' He sounds as if he doesn't like this inevitability.

'What are the tactics, then?' Arthur asks.

'We're operating on a skeleton crew,' Gwaine says. 'A steersman and three stokers, plus Kanen and I. Depending on what your crew decide to do, overwhelming the crewmen shouldn't be a problem.'

'And Kanen?'

Gwaine looks uncomfortable. 'He could be tricky,' he admits. 'But there's no point worrying about that yet. Tell me how your crew are likely to try and take us.'

Arthur begins to fill him in on the standard AD engagement strategies, while Merlin goes to the door. 'I hear voices,' he says suddenly. 'Gwaine, you'd better go.'

The rebel gets up and goes to the door. As he passes Merlin there is a moment in which it looks as if they might kiss. Arthur looks away, fighting an unreasonable surge of some nasty emotion that he has no logical explanation for. These things aren't illegal in Troy or the portions of Europe they're currently flying over, and in any case, Arthur thinks the current legal opposition to the practice in Albion is ridiculous, and an impingement on the right of all men to live as they choose in private. Which is largely why he's been cooling his heels in the backwaters of Troy rather than in more exciting and important corners of the Empire.

The door closes. When Arthur looks back, Merlin has come to stand beside him. 'What's between you?' Arthur asks, and he knows that it isn't entirely a fair question, but he has reasons, dammit, and the fact that he's glad Gwaine is no longer in the room is somehow one of them. 'Can we trust him? I don't know him from Adam. I need to know that he is truly on our side.'

Merlin hesitates, so Arthur presses on. 'Kanen said there was no point trying to get Gwaine on our side - what if he's right? What if Gwaine is reporting back to his master right now?'

'Can't you just accept that I trust him with my life, and with yours as well?' Merlin asks, but without much hope in his voice.

Arthur crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. Merlin sighs. 'Gwaine and I were friends,' he says, and the inflection he puts on 'friends' leaves Arthur in little doubt that he refers to friendship of a kind that would have him sentenced to hard labour in an English court of law.

'We fell foul of a neighbour who reported our unnatural behaviour to the police,' Merlin continues. 'Gwaine took transportation to the colonies - I took service as a field agent to Troy rather than prison or labour.' He shrugs. 'I already had the training, and the Agency needed someone fast. With Gwaine sent away there wasn't much to keep me in Albion, anyway. So I came.'

He puts his hands on his hips, emphasising his female attire. 'And in case you were wondering, exotic dancer was the cover I was assigned - I suppose someone at Whitehall has a sense of humour. And I'm not sure I've served the mother country quite enough to make up for my past, so if we could possible get you out of Kanen's hands before we hit dear old Blighty, I'd be happy.'

He takes a breath, and meets Arthur's eyes finally. Arthur expects his expression is rather a picture, because Merlin adds, 'And any if remarks on my deviant nature could be saved until we're not in mortal peril, I'd appreciate it.'

'I wasn't going to make remarks,' Arthur says, feeling stung. This isn't the time to explain that the a large portion of the reason his command was deployed to Troy is that his father wanted an indiscretion or two to be forgotten. He clears his throat, and changes the subject instead. 'Any idea how far behind us the _Excalibur_ is?'

'Gwaine thinks less than a day,' Merlin says, apparently mollified by Arthur's reluctance to burn him at the stake for his deviancy.

'We should sit tight,' Arthur says. 'They'll either grapple or force us to land, and we've no way of knowing which until they've done it. Le Fay and du Lac are in a better position to decide on their attack strategy. We had best leave the crew here to deal with the ship as long as they can - we aren't going to be able to fly this thing on our own. ' He doesn't add that he's not entirely _au fait_ with this model of airship.

'So we have time on our hands, then,' says Merlin.

'Yes,' Arthur says warily, for Merlin is fishing in his … bodice, is probably the best word.

The spy produces a deck of cards and flourishes it. 'Since you seem to have no objection to my depraved lifestyle choices,' Merlin says, beginning to shuffle the cards, 'can I seduce you with a game of five-card stud?'

Arthur's immediate and extremely inappropriate thought is that Merlin could seduce him quite successfully without any games at all, but he manages to swallow that reaction and acquiesce to Merlin's suggestion instead.

***

Arthur is two hands up when there's a huge thud and the airship lurches violently to starboard.

'That'll be the _Excalibur_ ,' he says, and drops his cards. Merlin does likewise, and stands, looking like he's about to go yet again to the hatch. Arthur grabs him by his shoulder. 'No,' he says. 'Wait.'

A grapple takes that moment to smash through the pressure-glass. 'See?' Arthur says. 'Just hold tight, someone'll get us out of here in a moment.' He wishes he was as confident as he knows he sounds, but he's used to being at the head of attacks, not the man waiting in the brig or the hold for rescue like a damsel, and yet here he is without a sword in his hands and having some difficulty talking himself into peeling his fingers off the silk-clad shoulder of his companion. It's not comfortable, this waiting.

The wind let in by the grapple swirls around the hold, bringing with it the sounds of other smashes, and then there's an almighty smashing noise as the _Excalibur_ and this Godforsaken rustbucket align broadside. And still they have to wait. Arthur wonders what goes on outside, who from his crew is in on the assault, where the rustbucket's crew will run to … all in vain, because he is locked up, of course.

After a while there's a shuddering bang at the door, and then another, and then an ominous pause, some raised voices, and then the door is unlocked. Gwaine's head pokes around the splintered doorframe.

'We need to get you out of here,' the rebel says. 'We've got four crewmembers trussed up like Christmas geese who need the space.'

'Kanen?' Arthur asks.

Gwaine's face hardens. 'Your Officers du Lac and Le Fay are after him - he's gone down into the engine room. Come on, I've got your little engineer at the wheel but she can't fly the ship on her own.'

While he's saying it, Merlin pushes past him, skirts kilted up above his knees, out into the passageway. 'Merlin?'

'Go help the engineer,' Merlin says, without stopping. Then he turns back, and slides a knife out of a sheath on Gwaine's hip. 'I'll catch you up.'

'Are you-'

'Just go!'

Arthur gets out into the passageway in time to see Merlin barrel off in the direction of the engine-room. 'Is he-'

'He's fine,' Gwaine says, just as the ship lurches again. 'We need to get to the helm, come on.'

'He's the approximate diameter of a twig, and he's wearing a dress,' Arthur points out as the deck bucks and rolls under them.

Gwaine raises an eyebrow. 'You don't know Merlin very well, do you.' He laughs tightly. 'He's _fine_.'

***

Fifteen minutes later, Gwen has the airship on an even keel and Arthur has his shirt off because shovelling coal into the steam generator is hot work. Gwaine has gone to try and find out what's going on in the engine room.

'They should have caught him by now,' Gwen says, and if Arthur didn't know her better he'd swear she sounded nervous. 'Four of them to one of him …'

'I'm sure everything is fine,' Arthur says with more certainty than he feels, and pauses long enough to wipe off his forehead, which is streaming in the reflected heat from the firebox.

'Everything is just wonderful,' says Morgana from behind them, and Arthur turns, all ready to salute her and congratulate her on a job well done.

She has Merlin with his arms all twisted up behind his back and a knife to his throat. 'Flying Officer Le Fay, what are you doing?' Arthur asks, wondering what world he has suddenly dropped into by accident. Kanen follows her in with Lancelot in his grip. Arthur's other Flying Officer is bleeding from his belly, his face white and drawn. Behind Arthur, Gwen drops something, probably a wrench from the clanging noise.

'Oh Arthur,' Morgana says, smiling sweetly. 'And here I thought you'd know mutiny when you saw it.'

'You're working with Kanen?' he asks, asking obvious questions for want of a better way of stalling for time.

'Rather say that he's working for me,' she replies. 'But it's a fairly equitable arrangement.'

'Where's Gwaine?'

'Oh, the little republican?' Bleeding out in the engine room somewhere I expect. He got away from us.' Merlin wriggles like he's trying to free himself, and she yanks his arms up tighter, pressing her blade against his throat til a bead of blood appears. 'Stop that,' she snaps. 'No-one wants me to have to kill you like this.'

'What are you going to do?' Arthur asks. He wishes he had his shirt on - even though it would scarcely afford him any protection at all, he would still feel less vulnerable if he had it on.

'Arthur dear, you never were very fast, were you?' Morgana asks. Her face is almost affectionate. Behind her, Lancelot grows ever paler, and eventually Kanen drops him on the floor with little care. Morgana shoves Merlin into his grip instead, and takes her time in advancing insouciantly, as if she owns the ship. 'Do you know what has been happening at home during your absence?'

Something sinks in Arthur's stomach like hot lead into wood. Morgana laughs. 'I see you have not. Well, I think congratulations are in order. Your father is King.'

Gwen, whom to Arthur's shame he has almost forgotten about, gasps. 'Please keep flying, madam,' says Kanen, almost gallantly. 'Because it would be a shame, a great and terrible shame, if anything were to happen to us in the air.' Merlin is still struggling in the rebel captain's grip, but Kanen still manages to drag him over close enough to menace the engineer as well. Arthur's shoulders itch knowing that an enemy is standing behind him, but it leaves only Morgana in his field of vision, and he dares not take his eyes off her - she can move like a snake when she wants to.

'He's your father too,' Arthur points out, tried beyond endurance. 'Great Scott, Morgana, what are you _doing_?'

'Putting the power in the hands of those who deserve it,' Morgana says, her chin in the air. ' _Taking_ power from those who don't.'

'But, His Majesty, and the Prince and Princess …'

Before Morgana can answer, Kanen cuts in. 'My lady, time is pressing.'

'They are out of my way,' Morgana says, her eyes hard as she looks at Arthur. 'And it was not my doing, before you ask. I am simply taking advantage of a situation beyond anyone's control.'

Before Arthur can ask what this situation might be, and how she knows of it, for she's been in Troy with him the whole time, Gwaine bursts in, and the situation becomes quite confused for thirty seconds, after which Merlin has got free of Kanen, Gwen has knocked Kanen out with a stoker's shovel, and Arthur is trying to face down his half-sister, who has a knife, with a long-handled spanner, the item Gwen had dropped earlier.

'You're mad, Morgana,' Arthur says. 'You'll never be queen.'

'If I get rid of you and Uther, I will,' Morgana says, feinting left and then spinning in to the right. 'And then-'

And then, the four forgotten crewmembers burst in the door, and Kanen gets groggily and aggressively to his feet, and within minutes, Arthur and Merlin are back where they started, with the addition of Gwen's gracious company and the bleeding and comatose body of Lancelot, as well as Gwaine, who has lost enough blood to be belligerent about it but not enough to make him pass out.

The second the door closes, Merlin scrambles across to Gwaine, who has slid to the floor against a bulkhead, and looks distinctly unfocused about the eyes. 'Stay awake,' Merlin says, desperately. 'Come on Gwaine, stay awake.' A breeze from the shattered bulkhead hatch stirs his unruly hair - in fact, it's getting cold in this hold since the _Excalibur_ let go its grapples and separated.

Arthur expects that ship to be on her way triumphantly to Albion by this point, carrying the news that the rebels' ship is under the command of a prize crew and will follow. Wondering what will happen when that never eventuates is a waste of Arthur's time right now. He comes back to the present to see Merlin trying to doctor Gwaine and Gwaine having none of it.

'I'm awake, you tit,' the former rebel says, flapping a hand at the spy. 'Deal with Lancelot, he's belly-cut.'

Merlin does as he says, sliding over to Arthur's flying officer. He blanches when he realises how bad that particular wound is, and fumbles with his skirts. 'Arthur, pass me a knife?' he asks distractedly. 'I lost mine in the engine room.'

His thighs are pale and lean where yanks his dress up. Arthur stares.

When a knife is not immediately forthcoming, Merlin glares back. 'Arthur?' he says again. 'A knife?'

Arthur blinks, and turns to Gwen, who is in the process of unsheathing hers from her belt. He hands it over. Merlin's skirts cease being ankle-length and become mini-skirts of the most hedonistic kind within moments, and Merlin proceeds to carefully untuck and inch up Lancelot's bloodied and ruined skirt.

Lancelot is not in a good way. Gwen is cradling his head, but his eyelids barely flutter. Merlin has to have her help to lift his body enough to slide a bandage-length of silk underneath.

'We can still win this,' Gwaine says, mutters really, tugging at Arthur's hand, distracting him from the medical bustle to his right. 'We're not done.'

'Sssh,' Merlin says, turning back to his friend momentarily. 'Arthur, don't encourage him.'

'I'm not,' Arthur feels he should point out.

'I shut the water intake,' Gwaine continues, sounding groggy but triumphant. 'And opened the outer stopcock. We vented the rest of our water over Nice.'

Arthur, Gwen and Merlin all stop and look at him. Gwen's expression is one of utter glee, Arthur notes.

'She's going to overpressurise,' Gwen says slowly, relishing it. 'Morgana'll have to land-'

'Or we'll explode,' Merlin finishes.

'Crashing over the Mediterranean is not my idea of a success,' Arthur points out. Merlin stuffs a wodge of torn silk into his hands and indicates Gwaine.

'It'd only blow up the engine,' Gwen points out. 'It wouldn't take out enough of the envelope to drop us immediately - we'd sink. Fast and bumpy, but we'd probably live after hitting the ground.'

Arthur is trying to bind a graze on Gwaine's shin - Gwaine takes the fabric off him with an eyeroll and sits up to do it himself. 'And Morgana, Kanen and the crew?'

'We'll just have to deal with them,' Gwaine says, tying careful strips of blue about his wounds. He's clearly trying, but he's still too unsteady for Arthur's liking. 'It's the best chance we're going to get.'

'He's right,' Gwen says. 'Arthur- I mean, Sir, he's right. Either way, we get on the ground.'

'There's an agent in Marseilles who'll hide us,' Merlin volunteers.

Arthur looks around at what, for want of a better word, he has to call his troops. An engineer, a rebel, a comatose body and a cross-dresser, to be blunt. And he himself is almost entirely _sans_ uniform. This is not going to be an orthodox military action.

'We split up,' he says decisively, and stands. 'Gwen, you and Gwaine stay here, look after Lancelot. Merlin and I will try to take back the helm.'

'I should come with you,' Gwaine says, and struggles to his feet, tied all over with ribands of fraying blue like some Mayday children's game. 'I know Kanen-'

'And I know Morgana, and I think it's safe to say that she's the chief rat of this little nest,' Arthur counters. 'And you're barely able to stand, man. Don't be absurd. Stay here and help Gwen. I'd like everyone to survive our ordeal if at all possible.' He turns to Merlin. 'Are you able to defend yourself with that thing?' he asks, nodding at the knife.

Merlin shrugs. 'I'll manage,' he says, a little cryptically. 'Gwaine,' he adds, turning to the now-swaying rebel. 'D'you think you could oblige with this lock?'

Apparently the talents one acquires as an enemy of Albion's nobility and an airship pirate include lock-picking. The pardon Arthur is half-writing in the back of his head for his father to sign is going to have to be quite detailed.

Merlin leaves first, and Gwaine catches Arthur's shoulder before he can follow. 'I don't like you,' he says, awkwardly and belligerently. 'But for some reason he thinks he owes you his loyalty, so I'm helping you. I warn you, however, if he decides your life is worth more than his, and you come back without him, I'll ignore his last wishes and kill you myself. Are we clear?'

His eyes are hard, stony, and Arthur has absolutely no doubt he means it. 'Crystal,' he says. 'But that isn't going to happen.'

'Just you see that it doesn't, princess,' Gwaine retorts, and goes to sit with Gwen, leaving Arthur to follow the spy towards the helm.

'What are we going to do?' Merlin asks in a murmur as Arthur catches him up. 'We've got one knife between us and no other weapons.'

'That boiler is going to blow any minute now,' Arthur mutters back. 'They'll panic, they'll send the crewmen down to the engine bay if they haven't already. I want you to go down there,' He indicates the correct passage as they pass it, 'and wait for them. I'll get Morgana and Kanen. I can just lock them in at the helm - if we lose propulsion then their having control of the steering does them little good.'

'Take the knife,' Merlin says, offering it to him handle-first.

'Don't be stupid.' Arthur shakes his head at this idiocy. 'We don't know if the crewmen are armed or not.'

'I don't need it,' Merlin insists. He looks like he's about to say something, and then stops. Arthur raises an eyebrow. 'I mean, I dropped a knife down in the engine room before - I can find it again,' Merlin says. 'Please, just take this one? Just in case.'

There's a juddering of the deck under their feet - the boiler must be redlining already. There is no time for this argument, so to shut the spy up, Arthur takes the proffered knife, and shoves him down the passage. 'Don't go _in_ ,' he warns. 'It's-'

'I'm not an idiot, Arthur, honestly,' Merlin says, rolling his eyes, and then he goes before any further conversation can eventuate.

Arthur positions himself alongside the corridor hatch into the helm-room. He has no idea what to expect from an exploding boiler - all the ships he's ever served on have been _properly maintained_ , to the highest standards of the RAF's Airship Division, but he expects it will be fairly noticeable.

It is. There is an almighty _whump_ noise, louder than the sound of the _Excalibur_ and the rebels' ship colliding, and the entire structure of the machine seems to wobble like the biggest jelly in the world. There's also a rushing noise, a sensation of slowly increasing speed - and suddenly three crewmen barrel past him, not even seeing him, down towards the engine room.

Arthur, heart pounding abruptly as if this were his first combat situation, slams the hatch closed and turns the hydraulic wheel that closes the pressure lock. It's almost too easy - he can see Morgana and Kanen through the pressure-glass panel in the hatch; see them turn, gesticulate, shout at each other. He retreats back down the corridor, intending to follow the crewmen and give Merlin what help he can, but first he wants to see how his captives react.

Then Morgana comes closer, and although he knows she can't see him at that angle, he can see her. She mouths something, and then her eyes glow golden, and that is startling enough that the explosion of the hatch is almost secondary.

 _Magic_. Morgana, and magic? The most treasonous, the most feared form of crime … so rare that the laws surrounding it haven't been invoked in a hundred years but still treated as a very real danger, particularly by Arthur's father … and Morgana, Arthur's half-sister, has it.

Even Kanen seems taken aback, but Arthur doesn't stay to find out exactly what he's taken aback by, whether or not he knew of Morgana's power, because he knows he can't fight that with a knife and on his own. He beats a strategic retreat to the engine room instead.

'You can run, Arthur, but I'll find you,' Morgana calls after him. She almost sounds amused. 'There are only so many boltholes to hide in.'

He ignores her and keeps running down the cramped, narrow corridors. When he gets to the engine room, half the floor and the back bulkhead are missing, and Merlin has the three crewmembers tied up in ropes and unconscious, as far from that gaping hole as is possible.

'Where did you find rope?' Arthur pants, as if that is in any way relevant. Merlin stares, big-eyed at him, and stutters for a moment before Arthur realises there's more important information to share. 'Morgana's magic,' he says, ungrammatically, panting. 'She- I locked them in, and she blew the door off its hinges. I don't know how. We're stuck, Merlin.'

The sound of footsteps echo in the passageway. Merlin's face sets hard.

'Get behind me,' Arthur says, squaring up to the hatch. 'I'll try to hold her off- mmmph.'

Merlin's mouth is hot and sure over Arthur's for the brief moment he kisses him. When he pulls back, the footsteps are ringing ever closer, but Arthur's focus is on Merlin's face, his mouth red, and his eyes …

His eyes are golden as well.

'Arthur,' Merlin says, ' _You_ get behind _me_ ,' just as Kanen comes through the door, like a medieval herald with Morgana sweeping in behind him.

Before she can get a foot over the threshold, Merlin thrusts out a hand, bellowing a word that makes the world swirl with blue fire. It seems to take Morgana by surprise at first, but she recovers, recoils and retaliates.

While Arthur is watching the magical fight, however, Kanen gets the jump on him. Arthur sees him approaching, a flicker of movement out of one eye, and dodges the knife that is aimed at his ribs, feinting with his own blade in order to get some space between them so that he can work out what to do.

And so two battles rage, Merlin and Morgana fighting with heat and light and pure power, and Kanen and Arthur wrestling with knives, too close to the yawning gap where the engine used to be for Arthur's comfort. The proximity to that hole means that the rushing, plummeting feeling of the airship's descent is more than just a feeling - Arthur can see the ground becoming closer. The airship is made to glide in the event of engine failure, and with the weight of the boiler gone, she's doing so with a fair amount of efficiency, but it's still a plummet, more or less.

Arthur, distracted, takes Kanen's knife in the meat of his shoulder, and he roars incomprehensibly and falls. Kanen is upon him then, but Arthur throws caution to the wind, scything his feet out in an attempt to knock the man over. It fails, but in dodging Arthur's wildly flailing legs, Kanen comes too close to the broken edge of the deck, and over-balances. His knife drops away, no doubt to startle some French peasant farmer when it lands, but he himself manages to catch the edge of the ship with his ribs and arms rather than fall immediately to his death.

Arthur scrambles over to him, offering a hand. 'Surrender for the King's mercy,' he says, although the look in the rebel captain's eyes tells him exactly what the answer will be.

Kanen spits at Arthur's face, claws wildly at him for a moment, and then is gone with another shudder of the wallowing, dying airship which nearly has Arthur off as well. He scrabbles for safety, knife lost, still shirtless and bleeding from a dozen tiny nicks and scratches and the one proper stab wound in his aching shoulder, and looks for Merlin and Morgana.

Morgana's eyes are feral, desperate, her hair awry and her AD uniform askew, and her fingers where they're outstretched, aimed at Merlin like weapons, are shaking. Merlin, by contrast, was already entirely dishevelled, his skirts cut to ribbons midway up his thigh and his beads coming adrift, but his face is set and his gestures strong.

'You're fading, Morgana,' he says, and he doesn't sound pleased about it. 'You're nearly dry. Give in, please.' He is pleading with her, Arthur realises. 'Haven't enough of us died? This isn't the way, my lady, you know that. Please, let's end this.'

Morgana snarls at him, twisting her hands into some new symbol. Merlin's face hardens, and he whispers something that makes a bubble form around her. 'Don't make me,' he says, sounding desperate. 'Don't make me do this, Morgana.'

She stares at him, then at Arthur, then finally seems to be looking around for Kanen, or maybe just assessing her options.

'You don't know what you're doing, Merlin,' she says, finally. 'They'll never let us live, they'll hunt us wherever they find us. Even if you kill me and get Arthur home safely, he'll just have you locked up in an iron cage and beheaded, you know. Magic will never be free. We'll never be free.'

Merlin opens his mouth to reply, but she shrieks something unholy sounding that bursts his shield, and before anyone can do anything sensible, hurls herself out the same way Kanen did.

'No!' Merlin shouts, dashing to the edge and nearly tumbling himself, were it not for the fact that Arthur, almost as quick as Merlin himself is, grabs him before he can overbalance.

There's a white and blue dot descending over the patchwork fields of the countryside below them.

'She just-' Arthur says, unable to believe it.

'She'll live,' Merlin says, his voice shaky. 'She'll feel like death for a few months, because she's down to her life-force, but she's flying. She'll land, and she'll live.' Now that he's not fighting any more, he looks exhausted. 'You're going to have to watch out for her, when you're king.'

Arthur is still staring after the tiny figure of his half-sister, the witch. The phrase ' _When you're king_ doesn't entirely register.

'Now, if you'll excuse me,' Merlin is saying, 'I think I ought to follow her example.' He steps forward, and Arthur clutches reflexively at him.

'What are you doing?' he demands.

'Avoiding execution?' Merlin says, as if Arthur is feeble-minded. 'Magic is illegal in Albion, and I've just proven myself a magic-user in front of a member of the nobility. I think I'll take my chances with my appalling French rather than face a jury of my peers.'

'What magic?' Arthur asks, praying Merlin will catch on. 'I was diverted battling with Kanen and by the time I got here, Morgana had already chosen to throw herself to her death rather than face,' Arthur rolls his eyes, 'a jury of her peers.'

Merlin gapes at him. 'You'd lie? For me?'

'Merlin, I never lie. Everything I have just said is the utmost truth. Now, do you think we could possibly attempt to get Gwen to the helm and make some semblance of a respectable landing in .. Marseilles, was it you said?'

Merlin's expression is one of glorious insubordination. Arthur thinks he might be in love with it.


End file.
